Intimacy
by Majin Micha
Summary: They know and like each other and they work well together - by day. Once it gets dark they meet and have sex . Can it work in the long term without them having to deal with certain feelings? And what secrets is the pathologist hiding? [Sherlolly] ** Don't like - don't read ** Chapter 4 online !
1. The First Act

**Note:**

 **All named persons belong to the BBC and the brilliant Makers Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss.**

 **First to say: I am not a Native-speaker and: Hell, yeah ! This was very difficult for me, so please: be nice and not to stern, be patient and let me know what you think.**

 **I am only (and still) Sherlocked and do not earn any money (no fame or fortune or success ) with this story.**

* * *

 **Act 1 : The First Act**

* * *

She felt like she was part of a dream world – but how could that had happened?

What had gotten into her as she had bombarded him with her motives?

And what the hell had gotten into him as he had agreed to it?

Why won their lust about their feelings?

And why did she feel like a stupid teenager who was going to commit the worst mistake of his life?

* * *

The ringing of the doorbell brought her out of her deep thoughts and her heart beat grew faster.

She looked upon herself in the mirror, tried to smile for some encouragement, but failed miserably.

So she slowly opened her damn front door.

They did not speak a single word as she pointed him with a friendly gesture to enter.

He slipped silently out of his coat and hung it to the empty wardrobe, then he turned to face her as she slowly closed the door behind him.

She stared at him for a long moment, uncertain to make the next step.

He nodded in understanding, walked the few steps that separated them up to her, took her face gently in his hands.

Again he looked deep into her eyes, causing her to blush deeply.

A brief smirk crept on his lips and he carefully put some strands of hair behind her ear, let his hand wander down her throat and remained on her neck, his gaze still on her.

She licked her lips nervously and his eyes darkened.

A moment later she found herself pushed against the wall, his body firmly pressed against her own.

Surprised she gasped for air and he used this moment to lower his mouth to hers, his silky tongue immediately pushing between her lips.

She moaned helplessly as his hands also made its way down her thighs, to close around her butt, pressing her soft body stronger against his own.

Clearly she felt his throbbing arousal against her belly and also the welcoming heat between her legs.

When he finally lifted her up, her legs closed automatically around him and he carried her towards the bedroom, their heated kiss not in the least interrupting.

A moment later she lay underneath him, his lips firmly on her neck, teasing, biting and licking.

She groaned and closed her eyes to enjoy the feeling of his mouth.

Then she felt his hands on her waist as she slid under her shirt and caressed her soft skin, before his naughty fingers moved to her breasts to massage them through the fabric of her bra.

Again she moaned and arched against his touch, her hands also did not remain still.

Suddenly one of his hands cupped her small ones, stopping them in her actions to stroke his already very rigid manhood through his tight trousers.

He shook his head mockingly, raising her hands up over her head, pinning her to the bed.

Both hands were clasped in his bigger one and he had them firmly but painless in his grip.

She swallowed hard as she met his passionate gaze and her heart beat loud and fast in her chest, let her tremble slightly.

His grin told her that he knew what was happening to her, that he knew what effect he had on her.

 _The fucking bastard._

Her thoughts were interrupted as his second hand effortlessly opened the buttons of her jeans to slit under her panties and between her legs.

A light moan escaped her lips and she closed her eyes.

She turned her hips as far as it was possible to his hand and bit her lower lip as she felt his fingers on her female parts.

His fingers moved quickly and forcefully into her, bow slightly in order to penetrate her intensively and she opened her eyes in shock, stunned, as she felt the familiar feeling in her abdomen.

 _Fast. Too fast._

"Stop!"

It was more a helpless moan than a powerful exclamation she had originally planned and probably that was the reason why he did not stop in his ways and just ignored her.

She wanted to escape him but he held her in an iron grip, his mouth back to hers, his tongue between her lips, imitating the movements of his fingers inside her.

She replied equally, as she also pushed her tongue deeply into his mouth, hearing him gasp softly.

The first sound she heard from him since he had entered her apartment.

How much time had passed? Hours? Or maybe just a few minutes?

Her thoughts were suddenly interrupted when a third finger found its way into her and she could no longer hold back, moaned loudly.

He covered her offered neck with soft kisses and bites.

She noticed how the feeling in her abdomen quickened, how fast it was getting hotter, wetter, between her legs.

 _Just a few more seconds…_

She came with a violence that made her see stars before her eyes.

Loudly she groaned, his name on her lips.

Then his fingers were suddenly gone and she was left empty and cold.

Confused she opened her eyes and watched him.

He stipped himself from his pants and came backto her to free her also completely from her trousers.

His manhood stood proudly, tall and taut, and she swallowed breathlessly.

 _How beautiful he was._

He threw her jeans somewhere behind him and was promptly back again between her legs, quickly slipping on a condom.

 _Where did he get this so fast?_

She had no idea.

But at the sight of his naked body above her she was suddenly uncertain about the whole situation.

She wondered for a brief moment if what they were actually doing was right.

If the professional relationship they had would not be destroyed by their selfish interlude.

He glanced at her for a moment and saw how she struggled with herself.

His hand cupped her cheek softly, forcing her to look at him.

She swallowed hard as he shook his head and lightly - encouragingly - smiled.

Gently but firmly he took her by the hips and slid - without waiting for further approval - into her, filling her out completely, erasing any further doubts in her mind.

Their both lustful moans rang out simultaneously.

He buried his face in her neck, whispered softly her name and she responded with a loud groan.

She lifted herself up a bit, changing the angle which allowed him to push even deeper into her soft, willing body.

They quickly found a rhythm which pleased them both.

She took his head in her small hands and forced him to look at her, which he did without resistance.

His eyes were full of desire, his gaze burning a deep mark into her soul.

A few seconds later he kissed her open-mouthed, grabbing her harder on her hip, pushing stronger and faster into her.

She gasped loudly and closed her arms around his neck, burying her nails deep into his flesh.

He growled against her mouth and punished her with a hard thrust, but she smiled wickedly against his mouth and kissed him back with the same passion he did a few moments ago.

His body hardened over her, a loud moan escaping his lips as he was looking her in the eyes again.

For a moment both remained motionless in their position, lost in the eyes of one another which were dark with desire and lust.

She never had been this close to him as right in this moment.

Physically and mentally.

It was almost too much.

And it scared her.

Then he slowly picked up his rhythm again.

His right hand made his way between their connection, stroking the sensitive spot which made her finally lose control.

She closed her eyes and begged silently for the long-awaited touch.

They many stimulations let her soon return to the edge of her next peak and she gasped his name again, clinging desperately to him.

"Just let go…"

With the next powerful move her dam broke and she came hard, tightened around him, taking him with her over the edge.

Breathlessly he called her name, also reaching the top.

Automatically he thrust a few more times in her, kissing her until both gasped loudly for air.

He cupped her face in his hands and pressed her lips to his while both remained silent, their bodies still tightly pressed against each other.

His eyes became clearer again and he looked – really looked – at her.

He remained in her for a few more moments, then he slid out and collapsed on the mattress beside her.

The sudden loss of him was nearly painful and she tried not to tremble too much.

The silence was not uncomfortable yet she wanted to say something, had to say something.

Before she could open her mouth he sat up, gabe her a soft glance while shaking his head.

So she remained silent and watched as he rose and walked straight to the bathroom.

A few seconds later she heard the water splashing from her shower.

She got up slowly, looking around uncertainly.

Should she follow him into the shower? Or did he prefer to be left alone now?

He really did not look like the typical cuddly type.

Confused and unable to think clearly she gathered up his clothes and put them on her bed.

Then she did the same with her own clothes.

She shivered slightly, feeling still uncomfortable.

Unsure she made a few steps to the open bathroom door, remained motionless in her doorway.

She took a lot of time to memorize that picture deep within her memory that was unfolding before her.

Who knew when she would be able to have him back - voluntarily naked - in her apartment?

He must have noticed that she was staring at him and turned around.

He carefully opened the glass door and held out a wet hand.

A small smile crept onto her lips as she took his friendly invitation.

The ice-cold water which hit her promptly after stepping in let her cry out loudly and she immediately wanted to leave her shower.

But he grabbed her and laughed briefly, turning her around.

The now warm water which met her skin felt really good.

She sighed blissfully, leaning gently with her eyes closed against the cold shower wall.

She felt his hands on her skin, just a soft touch and so she opened her eyes.

She was met with his dark gaze full of desire which shook her inwardly to the core.

Finally it seemed that her brain would now also switch on again.

She knew who stood right before her.

She knew that she loved this man.

And she knew that he did not - and probably would never - love her back.

There was never ever going to be a common future.

His gaze upon her changed to something completely different.

She thought for one hopeful moment it was understanding or even sympathy.

But as his lips turned down she understood that it was pity.

She felt ill and fled.

Fled from the shower, the bathroom.

Fled from him.

She grabbed her silky robe and slipped outside, towards her kitchen.

She padded the few meters to the sink, grabbed a clean glass and got herself some cold water.

Only now she felt her thoughts gatherin again, racing restlessly in her head.

 _Pity…_

She shook her head in disbelief at herself, the glass in her hand heavy trembling.

She was so incredibly stupid, stupid, stupid!

God, she was an adult, a rational thinking person, wasn't she?

And she had just committed the worst mistake that was to be committed.

Of course she had always dreamed of it, to whom should she be lying?

But dreaming and actually **doing it** were in the end two completely different things.

So why did she hurt herself by doing it, why did she let it happen?

"See you tomorrow?"

Startled by his deep voice behind her she did not dare to turn around, stiffened.

Those were the first words they exchanged since his arrival and only now she knew indeed that it was not a days dream.

The reality hit her with the force of a sledgehammer and shook her insides.

She did not turn to look at him, wanted not - could not- bear his sights now.

She had to be her bloody happy self while he was still in the room.

Did she want to see him - do it - again?

 _Hell, yeah._

And should she see him - do it - again - even if it was out of pity?

 _By God, no.  
_

"Molly?" He was standing right behind her, she could feel it on her skin.

She could feel him.

"Sure." It was only soft-spoken.

 _You utterly, bloody fool!_

"At yours?"

She nodded again and sipped absently at her glass, until it was empty.

As she put it back in the sink she heard the front door close quietly.

He was gone.

She took a deep breath and told herself to calm down, but failed miserably.

Her legs gave away and she sank to the floor, her back against the kitchen counter, her eyes fixed on the wall infront her.

She did not notice the tears that wetted her cheeks.

Her thoughts were too confused, the way of dealing with him from now on still too vague and unclear.

One thing was clear though :

Sherlock Holmes was definitely not the guy to cuddle after sex.

* * *

SYS

MajinMicha


	2. Has The Beginning Already An End?

**Act 2 : Has the beginning already an end?**

* * *

 _Warm, soft, bare skin under long, slender fingers..._

 _A gentle touch on the chest ..._

 _A breathless kiss on a slightly opened mouth ..._

 _A nimble, silky tongue that slides keen over soft skin ..._

 _Then a strangled, lustful panting..._

 _And a name…_

 _"…Molly…"_

* * *

"Will you handover the small test tube!"

Molly and John both looked up from their documents, didn't know to whom he was talking.

Sherlock pointed left past them without looking up from his microscope and Molly turned around, searching for a moment for the subject.

She discovered it lying directly behind her on the desk and she leaned over, grabbed it with her right.

Molly got up and walked over to Sherlock to put the glass into his outstretched hand.

As their fingertips touched he looked up briefly and their eyes met.

* * *

 _His body hard but not unpleasant over her..._

 _His hands touching her everywhere and caressing her body .._

 _His mouth kissing her senseless..._

 _Her name, overcast with lust, out of his mouth, softly, almost in a whisper ..._

"… _Molly…"_

* * *

Molly swallowed hard as he turned back to his experiments, a light grin on his lips.

She paused and turned again to her files, tried to store as many details as possible in her brain.

But her concentration passed terribly fast as she felt Johns gaze on her back.

Sighing she turned around and looked at him quizzically.

"You're alright, Molly?"

She shivered and tensed slightly. "Yes, of course."

He shrugged his shoulders and Molly spotted how Sherlock watched them carefully from the corner of his eyes.

She swallowed nervously and refocused on his best friend. "Why do you ask, John?"

"You look tired." he smiled softly. "You haven't by any chance helped Sherlock with his experiments last night, have you?"

Molly's heart beat anxiously in her chest.

 _Experiments…_

If John only knew what both had in fact experimented with yesterday.

Or maybe he _did_ know something?

What if Sherlock had told him about last night?

She opened her mouth to give him some vaguely answer.

But before she could get caught in a bad lie Sherlock replied for her in an unusual soft voice.

"You caught us, John. Last night I had trouble with some results and therefore I asked Molly to help me. Somehow we probably both lost track of time and before we knew it it was already half past midnight."

Surprised they both turned around to fase Sherlock who continued to work at his microscope.

Molly could clearly hear in his words that she should support him in his statement.

So she nodded. "Yes, that's right. We somehow lost track of time..."

Again her thoughts flashed back to what had happened last night and for a brief moment her cheeks were flaming red.

She quickly turned back to her files, turning her red face away from John.

He looked puzzled for a moment before he turned his attention back to Molly.

"You know, Molly. Maybe it is about time to simply say **no** to him." He whispered softly to her.

 _If he only knew how very difficult it was to say NO._

He rose and remained undecided in the doorway.

"I'm going to lunch. You two probably do not want anything?" He asked aloud.

Molly shook her head gratefully and sat motionless, Sherlock gave as always no answer.

With a resigned "Okay" John left the laboratory.

For a long moment neither spoke before Molly softly whispered. "That was close."

Sherlock made no sound but agreed to her secretly.

She sighed and stood up, stepped cautiously behind him. "Have you found something?"

Sherlock shook his head. "No, nothing special."

He took the tube in his hand and threw it beside him in the bucket.

"I'll probably have to try several experiments to convict our man with sufficient evidence or otherwise I have Graham troubling me all the time."

 _It's Greg, but you do know this, don't you?_

Sherlock sighed briefly and pulled his coat over his shoulders.

"Tell John I'm going back to Baker Street."

She nodded and watched him as he left the laboratory with quick steps.

Finally her heartbeat calmed down, had it struck in an unnatural rhythm all the time during his presence.

Molly sighed and began to clean Sherlock's working place and threw the damaged and used tubes which he had left lying around into the bin.

A few minutes later – she was still unsuccessfully trying to check through some results - her lab coat was slightly vibrating and hesitantly she took out her cell phone.

Looking pensive at the screen and opening the incoming message Molly's breath hitched in her throat.

 **Appointment still set? - SH**

For a brief moment a sad smile appeared on Molly's lips but she hesitated with her answer, remained motionless on the keyboard of her phone.

Her mind screamed for her to stop this _relationship_ or what **it** was between them.

Her body however advised her to take what she could get.

Better than to miserably wait and hope.

And Molly wanted only him, the great unique detective, only him, Sherlock Holmes.

There was unfortunately no doubt in that.

She winced frightened when her phone received a second message.

 **I am waiting...- SH**

Her heart and mind raced.

What should she answer him?

Of course she had no intention to stop it.

But she wanted so much more than just that.

Another incoming message and she blinked hard.

 **Molly ! - SH**

She scolded herself inwardly as a fool.

In the end it was – as always - her fault.

* * *

 ** _**48 h before the Act**_**

* * *

"... and I am done with it to tell you every single time! Clean up your own dirt! I'm not your maid, Sherlock Holmes!"

Molly had once and for all enough of this terrible man.

She knew that he shamelessly used the illegal body parts to make experiments in her lab or sometimes even at home.

But for the first time in those many years she saw now also a risk for her job.

Mike Stamford was not stupid and Molly was sure that he knew what Sherlock did, that he knew the she, Molly Hooper, was helping and giving him the body parts.

But it **was still** illegal and someday it would cause many problems, for her, for Sherlock and also for Mike Stamford.

And also if she secretly admired Sherlock she also loved her work she did in St. Barts.

And her work was in the end much more important to her than the damn detective.

"Molly, I really hate to say it. But I think it's time that you finally meet again someone who is able to satisfy you properly. Your mood lately is hardly much to bear. "

The thick silence which followed was palpable.

Molly blinked in disbelief, unsure whether she just dreamed or if Sherlock had actually spoken.

She turned slowly - definitely too slow for Sherlock's taste - to face him, her posture difficult to deduce.

But under the mask of horror it was boiling violently.

Molly was not sure how long she could hold her anger back.

After all Sherlock _"I'm-married-with-my-work-and-caring-is-not-an-advantage"_ Holmes made it aloud that she suffered from chronical lack of sex!

Why was it her fault that the only one appealing, attractive and sexy person she knew was the man standing right in front of her?

The look that hit him from her hazel-brown eyes would make him drop dead to the spot if Molly would have had the choice.

She gasped for air. "Are you implying that I only need a guy again between my legs so I will hop merrily singing again over the place?"

Molly had great difficulty to keep her anger under control and to not jump on Sherlock and strangle him to death.

And what was his answer?

Instead of calm things down and to reassure her he didn't meant it that way- after all, it was his fault that she was angry - he grinned.

Yes, indeed!

He had the nerve to grin at her.

"Well, I would never expressed it that way, but you definitely have understood what I…"

"Keep your mouth shut!" Her face was crimson.

Whether out of shame or anger both could not say.

But her sudden outbreak surprised both equally.

Sherlock remained relaxed and laughed silently.

Any other man would have been pleading and begging on his knees.

But he could not held back also his next comment.

"I am really impressed, Molly Hooper." He looked at her pleasurably. "This wild side on you is completely unknown to me. And I do really wonder if your blush goes deeper down your body. Care to let me find out? "

Stunned she looked at him, then turned around, ready to leave the lab before she killed him by hand.

"Fuck off, Sherlock!"

"I gladly would do this to you..." his answer came fast - maybe a little too fast - from his lips.

Laughing he bent down the old pair of laboratory gloves that Molly had thrown at him.

Her eyes narrowed and she grinned naughty. "Oh Sherlock, are you sure how to do it properly?"

His eyes darkened at her words, any fun between them now gone.

"Do not test me, Dr Hooper." was the dangerously slow reply from him and Molly's skin began to tingle.

 _Now or never !_

"All right, Mr Holmes. I'll take your challenge."

Her eyes flashed as her dumbest idea was going through her mind, but the words were out quickly and could no longer be taken back.

"Molly...", warned Sherlock and took a step backwards.

"Fear, Sherlock Holmes? Are you making a retreat now? Moments ago you clearly wanted to _fuck_ **me** _off_..."

Her voice was stronger than Molly internally felt.

Did he see how much her hands were shaking?

Her mind went blank as he suddenly stood very close, his eyes not leaving hers.

Molly even believed she could feel his breath – which faintly smelled like mint tobacco - on her face.

Nervously she chewed on her lower lip and tried to remain cool.

At her thoughtless gesture Sherlock's eyes flicked quickly between her eyes and lips.

As his face came closer Molly was sure that he wanted to kiss her, but instead he loudly cleared his throat and then backed away.

"I am married to my work, Molly and I do no romantic relationships. That's not really my area as you well know."

 _Always the same old story._

The thing had been done for him apparently.

But Molly was done with giving up.

She was not sure where she got the courage for her next words though.

"I have never spoken of a romantic relationship, Sherlock."

His silence was answer enough and Molly knew she had taken him by surprise.

Maybe she even had completely destroyed his view on her.

But she could not care less about that at the moment.

"You are talking about ..." Sherlock dared not to speak the words out loud.

Now it was her turn to grin at him. „You heard right, Sherlock. I mean it. Wild and unrestrained sex. Quite a lot of it."

Her grin deepened even more as his eyes widened almost timid at her words.

„I hope I do not alarm you with this topic?" Her innocent question was thick with sarcasm.

„Sex doesn't alarm me.", came his quick reply, however, his eyes spoke volumes.

"Well, I have heard other stuff but how would I know?" Molly replied cheekily.

Sherlock's posture changed and he was dangerously close to her again.

„You really want to play. Sure you want to play with _me_?"

His deep voice sent shivers down her spine and Molly blinked surprised as he grabbed her roughly by her arms and pulled her closer.

His mouth brushed slightly over her left cheek and she tried to control her heartbeat with deep and steady breaths.

"Feel yourself warned, Molly Hooper." She heard his hoarse voice. "No one challenges me with impunity. I hope you know what you have begun..."

He leaned back slowly and looked at her with an enigmatic look.

Her world came completely out of balance when he raised his hand and stroked gently over her cheek.

Molly's eyes burned as she dared not to blink, out of fear that she was again caught in one of her most beautiful dreams.

His thumb caressed sensuously over her lips and she closed her eyes, took a shaky breath.

"Molly ..."

She opened her eyes again, Sherlock's lips only a few inches away from hers.

His gaze was intense as he got over the last piece of distance that separated them.

At first he seemed to test the dangerous waters where they moved.

When Molly slowly reacted and put her hands around his neck, he pulled her hard on himself and deepened the kiss.

She let out a low moan as his tongue pushed gently but firmly between her lips into her mouth to touch her also waiting tongue.

Sherlock was however stepping away after a few moments, his eyes shining wide with amusement. "Why not do it right here, right now?"

She swallowed hard and stumbled back. "W-What? N-n-no ...! "

Her face felt incredibly hot.

Also the awfully stuttering had returned and Molly cursed inwardly, annoyed at herself.

But the deep and somehow sexy grin fell not from his face. "As if it would bother anyone!"

"Sherlock!"

"All right, all right!" He chuckled and turned away towards the door.

In the open doorway he stopped and turned back around to face her. "Then I will have to come tomorrow night, Molly..."

Judging by his grin he was fully aware of the double meaning in his statement and she could not help but blush again as she felt her nipple harden.

 _Didn't know I would like this kind of talking..._

"...when you are ready." He winked at her mischievously and left, without waiting for a final answer, the laboratory.

Once he was out of the room Molly fell hard on the next desk chair.

Her fingers hesitantly hovered over her lips as she buried stupidly grinning her head in her arms.

* * *

And now she sat here again, two days after this arrangement, one day after "the act".

She could still feel his body on herself.

The sweet pain between her legs, which would probably be gone in a few hours, helped her to feel that the previous day was not a dream.

Molly was suddenly torn from her thoughts when the doors to her laboratory opened.

She looked up and directly into Sherlock's eyes.

 _Damn it!_

"You do not react to any of my messages." He said bluntly and locked the door behind him, which caused Molly's heartbeat to speed up immediately.

"I ..."

 _Oh God, I can't._

"Are you giving up already?" He interrupted her bored, taking the coat off his shoulders.

Molly got up and shook his head.

"N-No, I ..."

 _I just cannot have only sex with you, Sherlock._

He looked at her expectantly, his arms crossed over his chest.

Molly sighed and licked her lips nervously.

"Sherlock, I ..."

 _I love you and this makes the whole situation for me too difficult._

But he did not let her have her say, only pulled her into his arms.

She tried to protest but before she knew it he had sealed her lips with his.

The vehemence with which he kissed her surprised and startled her for a moment but without resistance she responded eagerly.

A few moments later he broke the kiss but still kept her in his arms.

"Don't do that." He whispered dangerously.

She looked at him questioningly. "What?"

He pulled her as close to him as it was possibly and Molly felt clearly how hard he already was.

"Can you feel that?"

She nodded slowly.

She felt also the strong heartbeat under her hands, felt the fine muscles under her fingertips.

* * *

 _Naked skin on naked skin ..._

 _Sensual kisses on her neck and chest ..._

 _Her soft body slowly moving under his ..._

 _Fingers, passionate digging into flesh ..._

 _Her name from his mouth ..._

 _"... Molly ..."_

* * *

She came back from her memories and blinked, her mind still clouded.

Sherlock's eyes were on hers, his arms gentle around her body.

He gave her time, a lot of time and tried not to put pressure on her.

And Molly knew that she had not think, not to be afraid.

And why should she?

She knew Sherlock.

She trusted him unconditionally.

He would never hurt her.

And what was more important: he would never ask questions.

Slowly a small smile on her face began to spread.

Without lowering her eyes she absently slid her fingers over his chest, then opened impatiently the buttons of his shirt to gently stroke over the underneath hidden skin.

Maddeningly slow she let her hip rub against his.

She was slightly amused as she felt him getting harder.

"Molly .." Sherlock was groaning, his eyes clouded with desire.

His grip on her body had intensified, his breath was ragged.

She grinned boldly before she went on her knees before him.

"Without dirty thoughts you wouldn't have closed the door, would you?"

And with those final words she opened his trousers.

* * *

SYS

MajinMicha


	3. Some Explanations

**Act 3 : Some Explanations**

* * *

Molly slowly lowered herself on Sherlock's chest and buried her face exhausted in his neck.

Breathing in the unique smell he gave off just right after sex she happily felt his naked form underneath hers.

His arms were wrapped gently around her body as he absently played with some of her hair strands.

A few weeks had passed since their first encounter and regularly they met in Molly's apartment.

A purely sexual relationship that did not seem to bother him in its investigations.

And it worked - contrary to Molly's initial hesitation- very good so far.

Unfortunately she still had some days where thoughts crept into your mind whether they actually did the right thing.

And some nights she even was lying awake in the middle of night, feeling happy and sad all together.

 _What is wrong with me?_

Molly was suddenly torn from her thoughts when she felt Sherlock's still pulsing erection between her legs.

She was suddenly aware that he hadn't, unlike to her, found salvation yet.

"Are you ready for the next round or do you need a little break?" she heard his husky voice right to her ear.

She lifted her face and grinned sheepishly at him.

Sherlock leaned forward and closed his mouth on hers as he turned her around and buried her body under his.

* * *

Her beeping phone woke Molly rudely from one of her rare deep slumbers. With some difficulty she tried to find the phone in the dim light of her room. The brightly lit screen showed her two messages.

 **Appointment today not possible. – SH**

 **Got a case. – SH**

An eyebrow went up quizzically before the phone was vibrating with an annoying sound for the third time within a few seconds.

 **Tomorrow suitable?- SH**

She shook her head in amusement and tapped hurriedly back.

 **Sure. Take care. – Molly**

Without waiting for an answer she sighed and let herself fall back into her pillows, to fall instantly asleep again.

* * *

„Sherlock!"

Mrs Hudson, calling a second time from beneath her flat, was a little bit annoyed now.

„Your doorbell!"

Rolling his eyes in his usual Sherlock-style he put his phone and the just received text from Molly aside.

He could hear Mrs. Hudson piece, lightweight, distinctive steps, closely followed by a pair of strange, heavy and uncertain steps.

New Client: male, middle-aged, tall, slender, but not overly athletic.

"Don't be boring." Sherlock prayed earnestly and closed his eyes briefly.

He desperately looked for a distraction, hoping for several days on a new interesting case as his thoughts were recently, constantly whirred around a certain pathologist.

"Sherlock, the doorbell ..." began his landlady again, but he interrupted her abruptly.

"Please sit down, Mister ...?" He gestured vaguely towards the chair in front of him, then he looked up.

The tall gaunt man who slowly entered behind Mrs Hudson the apartment was watching him curious.

"Schmidt, Sir. My name is Bernhard Schmidt." came the deep voice and Sherlock's eyes widened in surprise.

"Ah, I see. Strong foreign accent. You clearly are not a citizen from the United Kingdom."

The man said nothing in return, so Sherlock got up and circled around him curiously.

"You have traveled without interruption for several hours. I can see that clearly on your crooked posture and clothes. Your trousers are worn considerably in some places, the place on your left knee is patched - I would say - twice. Your favourite suit, maybe? Irrelevant , doesn't matter. You can't afford a flight ticket into the heart of England which the 20-hour bus tour would prove…including a frightening seafaring by a Danish ferry which you had to accept in order to reach up to me. Got a little bit sick over the way here, didn't you?"

Sherlock sat back on his chair, still continuing his speech.

"In addition _Schmidt_ is not a common British surname. Of course we have also some citizens with non-English descent here in London but as I said before your accent is very strong, too strong for a man who lives in England for a long time. Therefore I would suggest that you are from Germany."

Sherlock waited a few seconds with an annoying smile on his fine, then, as always, the purely rhetorical question: "Am I correct?"

The man blinked at him for several moments in pure amazement before he finally found his voice again. "Yes, Mr Holmes. That's all correct. Just brilliant…"

Sherlock nodded shortly to Mrs Hudson.

"I see I'll be no longer needed." she muttered and disappeared slowly towards the stairwell.

„Tea and biscuits, Mrs Hudson!", Sherlock called after her before he hinted his client again to sit down.

The man looked slowly around the small living room. "Very nice. Do you live alone?"

"Only recently as my blogger has left me for a woman. However, how can I help you, Mr Schmidt?" Sherlock crossed his legs, leaned relaxed back in his chair and rested his chin on his hands, as usual.

The German citizen clasped his hands nervously. "Well, I... I'm looking for my wife."

 _Wife, of course, what else?!._

Sherlock groaned in frustration. "Boring…!"

"S-sorry?" And a stuttering one, also.

Sherlock rolled annoyed his eyes. "Forget it. Go on."

The gaunt man pulled from his coat pocket an old picture and slowly handed it to him.

"This is my wife, she's…gone. For several years now, for…for five, to be exact. "

Still bored Sherlock took the photo and let his gaze slowly slide over the photo with the intention to send the man away as soon as possible.

Than his eyes widened in shock.

For a moment he clearly felt as his heart gave a short, sharp leap in his chest. But just as quickly he had himself under control again. His eyes darted to his client, but he probably hadn't noticed anything as he studied the books on Sherlock's cabinet.

Again his eyes wandered back on the picture in his hands.

The pretty young woman smiled into the camera, her short blond hair clung lightly to her high cheekbones where clearly little dimples were visible.

The warm look in the big blue eyes were familiar. She was laughing but she seemed not happy.

 _"You look sad when you think he can't see you.."_

Sherlock knew that he would recognize this woman anywhere even if she certainly looked different now.

 _"Don't just say you are, because I know what that means, looking sad when you think no one can see you…"_

"What's her name?" He asked disinterested, tried to sound cool.

"Her name is Mabel.", Schmidt answered quickly.

 _Mabel, how..._

„… ingenious.", he murmured quietly.

His client looked at him nervously. „Sorry?"

Sherlock leaned forward a little and looked his client deeply in the eyes.

"The name – _Mabel_ \- it is rather a rare name in Germany I believe, isn't it?"

"Yes, I know. Her parents…actually her mother was a bit strange with names.", was his careful response back.

"Obviously." For a moment he was silently smiling, remembering his own name.

Sherlock's eyes darted from the thin man to the already older picture in his hand and back again, trying closely to deduce him.

"You said you lost your wife five years ago. Do you think she was kidnapped or ran away voluntarily?"

The man before was silent for a moment, too long for Sherlock's taste.

"I suggest that you do not lie to me, Mr Schmidt, because I notice it immediately when someone is lying to me. Lying is like a sensor, I can _feel_ it, it tingles all over my body. So we will stay with the truth. Once again: Why did she run away?"

The older man sank tiredly his shoulders and buried his face in his hands. "I…I had no control of…m-myself."

"How often?" Sherlock struggled to maintain his control.

"What do you mean **how often**?" Angry eyes met dark eyes, but Sherlock did not look away.

Unseen he clenched his hands into fists.

Oh, how much he wanted to hit this ugly man right in the face.

 _Sentiment…_

Sherlock had to keep control, he had to be professional.

After all, he was a Consulting Detective. The only one.

"You have abused her and I want to know: **How often**."

Sherlock knew that something was very wrong.

The behaviour of this man was utterly strange.

Which husband would look five years after his wife hasleft him because he had abused her?

He rose from his seat and handed the man wordlessly the image.

"I'm sorry, but if you not telling me certain facts, I cannot help you."

His voice was calm and objective, internally he felt however very differently.

 _Sentiment…_

"I understand." The man's voice was quiet, his shoulders sinking hopelessly.

He looked at the picture even for a brief moment. "What are the chances that she lives around here?"

Sherlock shook his head vaguely. "Five years is a long time, Mr Schmidt, she could be everywhere…if she is still alive, of course."

"How much would it cost me if you find her?"

"I do not work for money, Mr Schmidt." He said dangerously quiet.

"And for what do you work for, Mr. Holmes?" Schmidt asked interested.

Sherlock grinned bleakly. "The case must be interesting. Nothing more or less."

One moment he seemed still to hesitate, but then he clapped his hands loudly and pointed his clients the door.

"Well, I think I've heard enough. As I told you before I cannot help you…and if I'm honest I don' to want to either…You have abused your wife and I think it is completely understandable that she has therefore taken her life in her own hands and left you. Go back home. If you really want her back go and contact the German authorities and the state police, Mr Schmidt."

As he turned around Schmidt was standing right in front of him, loudly raising his voice.

"I did that already five years ago, but at that time no one could tell me where she is. And all I know is that she had booked a single flight to Britain!"

Sherlock's eyes narrowed.

"As I said: I can't help you, Mr Schmidt, even if I wanted to. Please leave my home now. I have better things to do. "

He turned pointedly and walked to the window, starred outside, not looking back to his client.

Sherlock heard how the older man approached him, but then angrily turned towards the door, stomping down the stairs. A short moment later he heard the front door slamming shut and Schmidt stepped outside onto the street.

Sherlock watched from the shadows of his apartment as his client went into the still waiting taxi.

 _As if he had known that the situation would be dealt quickly…_

Before the taxi began to move, Schmidt turned around in his seat and gave Sherlock a cheeky look, than the strange figure inside the taxi disappeared in the urban maze of London.

Sherlock froze for a heartbeat and turned around quickly.

The picture of Schmidt's wife lay innocent in front of him on the table.

Sherlock cursed inwardly, but picked it up, put it after a few moments in his coat pocket.

 _This would change all…_

"Mrs. Hudson!"

The sinking feeling in his stomach would not go away easily.

 _When I've eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how mad it might seem, must be the truth…_

Panting, she stood with the tray full of two cups of tea and a bowl of biscuits in front of him, looking around quizzically.

Sherlock smiled pleasantly. "Tea and biscuits have been done for the moment, thank you anyway."

Then quietly to himself. "I need to think."

* * *

The laboratory laid dark and quiet in front of him, nobody was to be heard or seen.

She was working silently on some test materials and seemed to be in harmony with herself and the world outside, unsuspected of what was there to come.

Unsuspected of the thunderstorm named Sherlock Holmes.

 _How could I have overlooked the obvious all these years?_

He felt betrayed, in some strange kind of way.

 _Now if that wasn't a sudden feeling…_

After several minutes of watching her silently out of the shadows he slowly stepped into the light.

„I guess you owe me some explanation!"

Molly jumped in surprise and turned to him, a hunted look on her normally peaceful face.

As she recognized him the sudden tension of her posture seemed to fade way, her questioning gaze on him, however, remained.

„What?" The serious look he sent her made her feel anxious.

Gingerly Sherlock stepped forward, his gaze still dark, his expression hard to read.

„What's wrong, Sherlock?" Molly had no idea what has gotten into him.

Did she probably do anything wrong? Why was he suddenly acting so strange?

„I said you owe me an explanation, _Molly_!", he repeated slowly.

The way how he spoke her name felt somehow strange and caused Molly to shiver.

 _Could it be…?_

Sherlock reached with his right hand into his coat pocket, to shove her a an old picture right into her face.

Molly's face was getting visibly pale.

„Or maybe I should better call you by your right name: **Mabel**?"

The test tube slipped from her trembling hands and fell to the floor where it broke into a thousand pieces.

* * *

SYS

MajinMicha


	4. Who Is Mabel?

**First of all:**

I got my first reviews on this story – **Yeah!**

01) Dear Guest, whoever you are: I was **so** happy to receive your review *throw some raisinets* Thank you very much for it I will try not to leave you dying with this new chapter - but I can't really promise. To be honest - where's the fun in that?!

02) Dear Honourable: You are so, so lovely, thank you I have so many ideas and it's so hard for me to write them all down as I am not a native speaker. I hope I can make you also glad with this chapter !

Everybody: Gave fun !

* * *

 **Act 4 : Who is Mabel?**

* * *

As she opened her eyes everything was completely dark.

Was she breathing?

 _Check…!_

She felt the soft pillow under her head and the warm blanket around her body and she knew instinctively that she was **not** at home in her bed.

What had happened?

In which bed was she?

And where the hell had she been brought?

She remembered that she had been working in the laboratory.

She just wanted to go home - after a long time again - to enjoy a quiet evening only for a quick meal, a glass of wine and with many hours of nonsensical television series such as Glee and Dr Who.

Instead she was now somewhere in the nowhere.

Cursing she reached again back to her vague memories.

She had been about to clean up the experimental equipment.

And then ...

* * *

„ _I said you owe me an explanation,_ _Molly_ _!"_

* * *

"Shit!" horrified she sat up abruptly, suddenly feeling very sick.

* * *

„ _Or maybe I should better call you by your right name…?"_

* * *

The memories came back with a thud.

* * *

"… _Mabel…"_

* * *

Sherlock had appeared in the pathology and had called her by the name which she hated like nothing else.

That could only mean one thing: he **knew**.

So the only question was:

 _Since when…and by whom?!_

"God damn it!"

Slowly it was getting clear where she was.

Although that didn't quite answer the question how she had come here – had she really, actually, fainted? - But that wasn't important right now, was it?

Now it was important to disappear as quickly as possible and not to have to answer any awkward questions from the well-loved detective.

Molly slid the blanket aside and stood up slowly.

She crept towards the door, breathing quietly with each step.

No need to start hyperventilating now.

As soon as she covered the handle with her hand she opened the door and peered out cautiously.

No lights.

No noises.

Nothing which would suggest that Sherlock Holmes was somewhere near.

She was only greeted by silent darkness.

Molly pushed the door completely open without uttering any sound and slowly stepped out.

She knew in front of her was his living room and after a sharp bend to the right was the staircase.

She knew by heart his whole flat - as she had often delivered some body parts and organs for his experiments - in Sherlock's present but also his absence.

And if she had lost herself maybe in some room – his bedroom for example…this would probably remain her only secret.

Molly sensed the wardrobe more than that she saw it.

She prayed that her coat and her shoes were hanging on there.

She had to get away, away from 221B Baker Street, away from London.

 _Away from Sherlock !_

She patted a few steps forward as the first wood flooring beneath her feet creaked loudly.

Instantly Molly stopped and held her breath.

She listened intently into the darkness, but she could not hear anyone but her heart.

Perhaps Sherlock was no longer in the flat but has already left for a new case?

Probably he had left her alone in the assumption she would be unconscious for some more time.

 _God, this must have been really a moment to see._

Molly exhaled slowly and deliberately, forced herself to calm down.

She had no more time left, she had to risk it – now or never.

Encouraged through inner dialogue she went forward again, ignoring the creaking of another wood flooring underneath her.

As she finally arrived at the wardrobe she stretched out her hands expectantly to take the soft fabric of her coat in reception.

Instead her hands clutched thin air and Molly stumbled clumsily forward, welcoming the several wardrobe hooks with her bare forehead.

She groaned and cursed loudly in an unladylike manner and rubbed the sore spot on her head furiously.

"And where are we going?"

Suddenly a deep voice rang out beside her before the dim light of a small table lamp lit up the room.

Startled she opened her eyes and turned to her left.

Sherlock grinned mockingly from his leather couch.

He had silently and amusedly watched the whole scene in front of him for several minutes now.

And she also knew why: he had waited like the Cheshire cat for his meal – Molly, the mouse.

Molly straightened up and tried to look at him quietly and calmly, but her heart was beating vigorously in a fast rhythm.

"What's this, Sherlock?" She turned around and pointed suggestively around. "What the hell am I doing here?"

"You fainted. So I brought you here."

She nodded. "Were are my clothes?"

Instead of answering he got up slowly and walked towards her.

Molly swallowed nervously and stretched out her hands to ward against him.

But he did not stop, but went up to her, took her hands more coarse than gently in his and pulled her close to him.

"Please ..." Molly murmured and leaned back, looking at him pleadingly. "...just let me go."

Sherlock looked at her in surprise. "You're afraid of me."

No question, rather a statement, so Molly remained silent.

He immediately let go of her. "Why would you be afraid of me?"

The question was spoken slowly as if talking to himself rather than her.

With a long look at Molly he pointed vaguely to the couch. "We should talk."

She remained silent as he sat down on the couch and patted invitingly beside him.

Molly looked like a frightened animal, ready to escape.

 _Has she always looked like this?_

He couldn't remember.

"I just want to talk, Molly..." He stopped short. "…at least for the moment."

A brief smile spread across her face and rather slowly she followed his request and sat next to him - with a little distance - never letting him out of sight.

For a few moments they were both silent, Molly watching him, getting anxious with each passing second.

Finally Sherlock sighed out loud and gave her to understand that she should start.

Molly sagged.

"I don't know what you want me to say, Sherlock ..." she began, but he interrupted her harshly.

"I would currently very much be interested of hearing the truth."

Molly blinked at him in surprise. "Why are you doing this?"

"Why am I doing what?"

She huffed. "Why do you want to know the truth? Why do you care at all?"

"Because it is impossible to make a fool out of me, Molly."

His words were indeed quiet, but his eyes ... oh, his eyes.

Molly saw the fire burning in it, all his attention was on her.

He was _deducing_ her.

"I know your record, Molly Hooper. I studied them, I know your career. I know why Mike Stamford employed you. You are undoubtedly a clever, ambitious woman, everyone knows this. But any fool can see that you had powerful help. I have always believed that Mike was your generous supporter as you are so painfully reminding him of his dead sister. And without question you did become a brilliant Pathologist. Christ, you are the only one who can easily work with me without going crazy. "

Sherlock's eyes were never leaving hers and he saw her - again - swallowing hard.

"And you're brilliant, so incredibly brilliant. You have lied to everyone, to me and I didn't notice anything, Molly and I'm probably one of the smartest people in London, if not across the United Kingdom. "

He moved closer. "So who are you, Molly Hooper? Why all these lies? What have you to hide? And who is helping you?"

She shook her head in disbelief.

"You were never interested in anyone but yourself, Sherlock Holmes. And especially not in me. Why now?"

She looked up and straight in his eyes.

"Is it because we have sex? Do you think just because we...we f-fuck...that you would know me better at all?"

He pressed his lips together at her bitter words, avoiding eye contact, his hands clenched into fists.

"You have no right to dig in my past! That was before our time."

Molly made an angry face and rose.

A strangled whisper escaped her throat. "I just wished we never made this damn agreement!"

She turned around, ready to leave.

Suddenly she was pulled backwards and landed hard on his chest.

"Don't you dare to leave me now without telling me anything…"

She fought tooth and nail, but his iron grip did not loosen.

Suddenly all her energy seemed to vanish from her body.

After a few moments, as Sherlock still did not make any attempt to free her, she begged him : "Let me go."

Immediately, as his hands broke away from her body, Molly turned to him and lifted her knee, ready to put him out of action.

An evasive step right back and her well-rehearsed kick went into void.

Sherlock chuckled when she came up unceremoniously on the floor in front of him.

But when she raised her head to look at him, the smile disappeared from his face.

She cried.

"Molly ..." He slowly reached out his hand to her, ready to help her getting up.

A fatal mistake.

Before he knew it, she went up to him again, pushed him back successfully.

A moment later he felt the hard edge of the table below his buttocks.

 _Where had she learned to fight like this?_

Her little hands had were into his upper arms to keep him at bay, but he was obviously much stronger and bigger than her.

With a powerful jerk he shook her off and pushed her away from him to the opposite wall.

She managed to turn around and came to a sudden stop, facing the wall.

Again she tried to resist, wanted to flee.

But then she felt it, felt like it was drilled into her, hard and hot.

She groaned inwardly, her anger slowly disappearing.

 _Typical male._

"Don't fight **me** ..." she finally heard Sherlock's hoarse voice in her ear and Molly's anger was completely gone.

She felt his lips and tongue on her neck and closed her eyes for a moment, groaned.

She had to stay strong, she could not give up now.

"And who should I fight then?" Her voice was above a whisper.

Sherlock turned her around and pressed his groin demanding against hers.

His hands had released her arms and slowly but surely found their way under her blouse, to caress her soft skin.

"Just stop fighting me!" He growled impatiently. "Stop it!"

She returned his hungry look with the same intensity and something in Sherlock's look changed.

Before Molly could even waste a thought what this all meant he pressed his lips firmly on her.

 _Damn it all ..._

She willingly opened her mouth and allowed his nimble tongue to touch hers.

Sherlock pressed into her body as much as it was possible and clearly Molly felt his arousal at her belly.

The kiss became more demanding.

Molly threw her arms around his neck to meet his kiss whit the same passion.

Suddenly her blouse was open and Sherlock roamed it hastily from her shoulders, let it fall to the ground carelessly.

His own shirt followed a short time later.

Their mouths still pressed together, Sherlock pushed her back on the couch.

Molly briefly groaned when her warm skin came in contact with the cold leather but his mouth and his hands were immediately on her and her skin was set on fire.

Sherlock's lips traveled down her neck, kissed the liberated skin.

Molly gasped as his cool hands closed around her breasts.

A moment later he got rid of their both trousers – and the only thing she felt then was Sherlock – on and in her.

Then she thought nothing for a long, long time.

* * *

"What is your complete name?"

Her short sad laugh shook him inwardly, but she could not see how much it actually touched him.

"You never give up, don't you?" she murmured and turned slightly in his light embrace to face him.

He pressed his lips lightly to her forehead and kissed gently the spot where she had injured herself an hour earlier. "You know me, Molly ..."

"Yes ..." she smiled sadly.

Then she took a long breath.

"I was born as Mabel Margaret Fuller."

"Mabel ..."

"Yeah, I know. A rare name. It's probably because my mother was a big fan of Heinz Rudolf Kunze."

"Of whom?" A quizzical expression.

She could not help but smile briefly. "Heinz Rudolf Kunze. He was a famous German musician. One of her favorite songs includes the name she gave me when I was born."

"Interesting. What's the song about?"

Molly looked deep into his eyes, thought for a long time before she answered him.

"The song is about a poor, love-blinded fool who wants to find his missing fiancée. She is actually a cheater and a thief. He hires a private detective named Marlow and asks him for help, to find her and bring her back to him."

She laughed suddenly cheerless.

"It's scary how well the text fits with my live story, almost as my mother would have known what would happen to me one day."

Sherlock swallowed and stared at her. "But you're not a cheater or thief."

She looked at him with a strange look in his eyes. "Not in your eyes."

Sherlock said nothing.

Molly sighed. "Listen, I ... I cannot tell you much more, Sherlock. And I don't want to. I've finished with my past a very long time ago."

"Five years is not necessarily a very long time ..." he said slowly.

She paused, was visibly shaken. "How do you know all this?"

He did not answer.

"Sherlock ..."

"You are important, Molly."

She froze because of his sudden change of topic and questioned briefly his and also her mind.

His gaze gave her an unpleasant shiver down her spine and so she sat up.

Closing her eyes she forced herself - once again - to calm down. "Sherlock, please. Please tell me who told you about that."

She had to hear from his mouth, she needed to know if she was still safe.

"I do not condemn you, Molly." Sherlock had rosen now also.

Molly's heartbeat quickened.

Her gaze changes, now demanding. "Sherlock Holmes, what do you know? Tell me ...! "

He met her gaze without blinking. "Your husband was here today ..."

The expression that crossed her face showed naked panic.

Bobbing she rose, sought out her belongings and disappeared into the bathroom.

* * *

A ringing telephone somewhere in the middle of London.

A female voice speaking first: "He knows."

"What do you want me to do?" a male voice answering.

A short silence, than:

"Get me out."

* * *

As Sherlock was left alone he desperately tried to think about the current situation, to somehow make sense of it.

He really wanted to help Molly, but how could he do it without damaging her already hurt feelings even more?

"Whatever this is ... it's over now ..."

Startled he turned around to the husky voice.

Molly stood in the doorway - her coat wrapped tightly around her body - trembling, eyes wide, tears wet her face.

She seemed ill and aged for years.

He went up to her but she raised a trembling hand and he stopped abruptly.

"Stay away from me !"

"Why are you mad at me?" Sherlock didn't understand her.

"I do not need your pity, Sherlock Holmes." Her voice was flat, dull.

" _What_?"

She sobbed loudly and clung to the door frame as she swayed dangerously forward.

"Molly...!"

The next moment he had her already back in his arms, but she pushed him away with incredible force.

And she looked so fragile – like a puppet.

"Don't touch me!"

Sherlock hardly breathed. "Good God! I just want you to **help** you."

A hysterical sound burst from her and Sherlock blinked several times confused, before he realized that she was laughing at him.

His face darkened.

"Molly, I'm quite capable of helping you. And your current behavior offends me very much."

She did not look at him, giggled unmolested on.

Sherlock was excessively angry.

Her previous command ignoring he stepped again to her and grabbed her by the wrist, forcing her to look at him.

His anger vanished instantly.

Her laugh was not a laugh - it were silent sobs.

Her body trembled as much as it was shaken by her sobs and it hurt him to see her so desperate and weak in front of him.

"Molly ..." He was not sure if she had heard him whispering her name.

She pressed herself unprepared to him, clasped him with all her might still available.

She whispered silently into his body and Sherlock tried to understand her.

But without success.

 _Was she speaking German ...?_

He went to his knees, to be with her at eye level, to provide her with a sense of security.

Molly was pale, her brown eyes looking even bigger than usual.

 _Why am I noticing now that she is wearing contacts?!_

She took a shaky breath and Sherlock paused, wondering what she had to say.

He had expected much - really everything. But not her next words.

"I love you..."

Sherlock was bobbing away from her as if he had burned his hands.

Molly took the moment to freely escape through the open doors, rushing down and out into the dark night of Baker Street.

Puzzled Sherlock stayed behind, unable to think clearly or even to act in any manner.

* * *

The same night Molly Hooper disappeared from London without a trace.

* * *

SYS

MajinMicha


End file.
